


Karkat Vantas: Have the most awkward confrontation

by phonemicengineer



Series: Lycanthropy Anonymous and Related Associations [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Suicidal Thoughts, sort of, werewolf!karkat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5314130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phonemicengineer/pseuds/phonemicengineer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You should never have befriended any Ravenclaws. You shouldn’t have even talked to any Ravenclaws because they’re way too smart for their own good and Jade Harley knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in their second year at Hogwarts, somewhere in October. Warning for sort of suicidal thoughts.

Karkat => FREAK THE FUCK OUT

She knows.

She _knows_. _She_ _knows_. She knows she knows sheknowssheknowssheknowssheknows

SHE KNOWS.

Fucking Harley, fucking _Jade Harley_ , you should have stayed away. You should never have befriended any Ravenclaws. You shouldn’t have even _talked_ to any Ravenclaws because they’re way too smart for their own good and Jade Harley knows.

She didn’t even reveal her knowing in a particularly dramatic way, either, just slayed you with a “so karkat :) whats it like being a werewolf??” You had just enough time to look like an extremely obvious deer caught in the lights of Oh Shit before absconding like a fucking pro, this is not a strife that you can win, out out out out.

She’ll tell Dave. Of course she’ll tell Dave. Dave will know and then John will know and Nepeta and Kanaya and _Terezi_ how could you have been so _stupid_? No, you know that one, because everything you do ends in some sort of clusterfuck, it’s inevitable, you should have seen it coming.

You’re hiding in an empty classroom, back against the farthest corner, desks and chairs between you and the door. It’s stupid and childish and you should be out there _stopping_ her but–

There’s a traitorous flare of relief nestled against your breastbone that you’re not totally comfortable with. It’s all so odd and new, the knowledge that soon the biggest secret you’ve ever kept will be out in the open. Surely they’ll leave you. Surely they won’t (can’t) stay with you, not now that they know. Not now.

But then. Then it will be out. Then you won’t have to worry. Then your friends, your classmates, you won’t have to fool them anymore. You won’t have to sit among them and pretend that you’re innocent and harmless when deep inside of you a monster claws to be let out. You won’t have to lie.

The light through the window has turned burnt orange by the time you gather the courage to stand. You missed Transfiguration, but you can’t really bring yourself to care right now, not when attending would mean your whole year staring at you for the entirety of the class. It’s not until you reach for the doorknob that it occurs to you: who else will know? The news will have had time to circulate by now. Will you have to walk through the whole school with all of them staring at you? Harley’s not like that, though. She wouldn’t have told _everyone_ –

But Dave might, if he thought it would keep everyone safe. Dave would paint it on the walls if he thought that you were a threat–and there is no denying that you are definitely a threat.

Cautiously, your heart lodged somewhere in your esophagus, you make your way out of your makeshift safe haven.  No pitchfork wielding mobs await you on the other side but you don’t breathe a sigh of relief just yet. They have to know by now. Someone has to know.

You make it to the common room without incident and you’re just reaching for the Fat Lady when you remember what lies beyond her portrait.

 _The common room_.

“Everything all right, dear?” the Fat Lady asks. You’ve always liked her; liked her warm face and her motherly attitude and her dedication to the students of Gryffindor tower. You like to think that she likes you too, but you’ve always had the feeling that she’s aware of your affliction. You suppose it’s too much to ask of a sentient painting to turn a blind eye on the suspiciously timed injuries of her wards.

You wonder how many other werewolves have hidden in this tower.

“Yeah,” you lie, your fingers tugging at the sleeve of your sweater, “Uh, bolderdash.”

The Fat Lady swings forward obligingly and you step through the portrait hole cautiously. No heads turn your way in unison like this is a movie, and Dave doesn't fall from the ceiling wielding his sword (is it made of silver? You’ve never asked but now you think it sounds plausible. At this point, the Fat Lady could tell you that the floor was made of lava and you would think it was plausible).

You start to make your way toward the boy’s dormitories when a hand catches you around the elbow, prompting you to jump approximately fifty feet off the floor.

It’s Dave.

Werewolves can survive a lot. In some spur of morbid curiosity, you had researched almost obsessively about lycanthropy a few years after you were bitten. So you’re aware that werewolves are much hardier than humans: they can go longer without food, without air, can stay conscious through more pain. The only dangers to werewolves are silver, fire, decapitation, and other werewolves. Despite this, Dave’s hand on your arm might well be made of silver for all that it feels like a death sentence.

“Come with me,” Dave says, his expression blank. You curl into yourself, your shoulders hunched more than usual as if to create a defense against the possibly literal evisceration you’re about to receive. The two of you make your way back across the common room and out of the portrait hole. Dave stops when it closes behind you.

It’s just you, Dave, and the Fat Lady in the hallway now, though the later seems to be purposefully silent for the time being. Dave lets go of your arm and you fight the urge to run only through force of will and a fair amount of fear. ( _He won’t just kill you out here, will he?)_ Silence reigns between you until Dave’s hand shifts ( _going for his sword–_ ) and your whole body flinches, your back and shoulders hitting the wall painfully.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. It’s Dave’s turn to freeze, his eyebrows the only thing to move as they inch towards his hairline.

Something inside of you breaks and the words come pouring out before you can stop them: “Shit, I’m sorry, I should have told you but I can explain– I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, okay? Please just, I understand if your angry but could you not, I mean, I don’t want the house elves to have to clean up this mess and. I just, please, I’m really sorry–”

“Dude,” Dave says, interrupting your word vomit, “You think I’m going to kill you?”

You notice that you’re shuddering, your nails digging bloody half-moons into the palms of your hands, but the realization feels detached, like it’s happening to someone else. The wolf between your ribs is growling, hackles raised, and you barely manage to choke out, “Yeah. I mean, fuck, I would kill me too.”

It’s Dave’s turn to wince, his hands dropping automatically to curl loosely at his sides. You’re not sure what to do with this so you stay hunched against the wall, prepared for the onslaught that’s sure to come soon.

Dave mutters something that sounds like “where’s John when you need him,” before he heaves a full-body sigh, the kind of breath he takes before starting his sword practice in the mornings. You curl a little further into yourself in response.

“Merlin, no, I’m not going to kill you,” Dave says. The fervor in his voice surprises you and you blink up at him.

“But, why?” you say before your brain can catch up with the words.

Dave’s careful mask cracks and anger bleeds through, fierce and blazing like an inferno. You’re busy berating yourself for looking a gift horse in the mouth like the fucking idiot that you are, way to go Vantas, stellar survival instincts, lemmings everywhere are bowing and begging to know the secrets of your ways. Dave makes a jerky move forward, like he was going to reach for you but aborted at the last moment, and both of you freeze.

Dave still looks livid and you’re not really sure how to remedy the situation.

“Karkat, I–,” Dave begins, his voice rough on the words. He runs a hand through his carefully styled hair, his expression unreadable, before he pushes his sunglasses up and leaves them there. The sudden exposure to his naked eyes throws you and the two of you stand and stare at each other for what feels like years.

You have to do something, say _something_ , so you gather all the shitty bravado you can muster and announce, “I’m a werewolf.”

Dave doesn't move, “I know.”

“And you’re not going to kill me,” you say slowly, working through the concept, before anger blindsides you. Why? Why did he bring you out here, then? Why isn’t he doing anything?

“I’m not going to kill you,” Dave affirms, opening his mouth to continue. You don’t let him.

“Are you fucking stupid?” you shout, “You heard me, _you know_ , I– I’m a fucking monster and you’re not going to do anything about that? You should kill me! I’m not, there’s nothing nice about what it– about what I am. I’m a danger to everyone here. What kind of knight are you if you don’t protect everyone?”

“I’m protecting you,” Dave growls, stepping closer. He looks angry, but in that aimless way that hadn’t really left him from earlier. You think that maybe he’s not angry with you, which doesn’t really make sense but fits his expression better.

“Yeah,” you roll your eyes, which is possibly not the wisest course of action but no one ever said you were smart or practical, “Because I’m the one that needs protecting in this situation.”

“Yes!” he exclaims. He probably would have thrown his hands up too if it wasn’t for his stupid poker face (but did it ever really exist, anyway? If it did it’s in pieces on the floor, now).

You’re very close, Dave’s chest mere inches from yours if you both inhale at the same time. His shoulders are a tense line against the dark of the hallway, instead of the carful slouch they’re usually set in, and his exposed irises haven’t broken eye contact since the eye roll. It’s a little uncomfortable in a way that you can’t totally explain, and also a little expectant, like you’re both waiting for the other to make a move.

“I don’t understand,” you mutter.

Dave scoffs, and you feel his breath ghost across your nose and cheeks, “I got that part, thanks.”

You open your mouth to say something possibly clever, though more likely abrasive, but Dave beats you to it. He’s whispering too, and you’re not really sure why or when that started but you’re not in a hurry to change it.

“Karkat,” he says, expression suddenly serious, “You are not a monster, and I am going to personally hunt down every person who has ever said that you are and relieve them of the use of their head.”

A laugh bubbles its way out of your throat, small and disbelieving in the barely-there space between the two of you, “You read that in one of Rose’s dirty novels, didn’t you.”

Dave doesn’t reply but you think that you can make out a blush in the low light and then you're laughing in earnest, a little bit hysterical and a little bit relieved but mostly just grateful, ignoring Dave’s mumbled “Shut up”. There are a lot of emotions vying for prominence in your chest and you might cry and you might throw up and you might collapse right here in the hallway, but for now you just laugh.

“So, Harley told you?” you manage to ask eventually. Your knees sort of gave out there a few minutes ago and now the two of you are just sitting in the hallway, cold stone against your shoulders.

Dave makes an offended face, “Merlin, what do you take me for? I figured it out ages ago. Harley would have too, if she sat next to your grouchy mug every day.”

Something like ice makes its way down your spine, “What.”

Pale eyebrows make their way towards their similarly colored brethren, “You’re the one that brought it up, man.”

“But you– I– what did you want to talk about?” you splutter, your hands waving in increasingly spastic ways.

“I just wanted to know why you were gone,” Dave shrugs, “Something must have been wrong, you never miss Transfiguration.”

So this whole fiasco was entirely of your own invention. Well, that’s comforting. “Can someone kill me now, please?”

“Nope,” Dave says, popping the ‘p’ with a completely deadpan expression, “Your boney ass is stuck here until natural causes decide to whisk it away to the after-life.”

“I hate you,” you groan into the welcoming cocoon of your arms. Dave pats your arm in a way that is possibly supposed to be comforting but only feels patronizing.

“No takesies-backsies,” he singsongs.

You think that, of all possible outcomes, this one is probably not the worst. Probably.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another important conversation is had. It's just as awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has read or commented or kudoed on this story, it means the world to me. I'm sorry I haven't replied individually to your comments; I am but a shy, awkward reptile and it will probably take me a while to work myself up to that point. But thank you anyway!

Karkat => APPROACH THE WITCH

 

She’s in the library, when you find her. It’s been a full sixteen hours since your talk with Dave, more than enough time for you to second and triple guess yourself until Terezi physically expelled you from Gryffindor Tower with a mildly amused but mostly annoyed “1 DON’T 3V3N KNOW WH4T YOU’R3 D3C1D1NG TO DO OR NOT DO BUT GO DO 1T B3C4US3 YOU’R3 1NT3RUPT1NG MY CONC3NTR4T1ON”. So, after another thirty minutes of beating around the metaphorical bush and searching listlessly, you're here. In the library. With the loudmouth Ravenclaw who somehow hasn't told all of your acquaintances yet that you’re a slobbering monster masquerading as a twelve-year-old boy.

(Dave doesn't think that you’re a monster. Dave knows and he wants to _protect_ you. Dave knows and he didn’t run screaming–)

You open your mouth to say something scathing and witty as you approach the table but Jade sees you first, waving you over as she stage whispers “Hey! Karkat!” earning her more than a few disgruntled shooshes from other students.

Scowling, you make your way to the chair across from her, slumping into it with as much indignant rancor as you can manage. Looking up into bright green eyes, though, your patchwork shield of anger and self-righteousness crumbles as your remember just who you’re talking to.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Jade says seriously, interrupting any panicked train of thought you had been developing, “I didn’t mean to freak you out. Grampa says that I’m not the best at, y’know, _tact_ and I didn’t consider how sensitive a topic it might be for you.”

“Yeah, well, warn a guy first,” you grumble, slouching farther into your seat under her earnest stare. So this was all about science? That’s…not actually very comforting. You prefer to be Not An Experiment, despite the fact that Jade seems to think everything in life is just waiting to be studied.

You realize that Jade is still blathering on without you, “I mean, Grampa has plenty of friends of different species that have been happy to talk to me about their adventures and answer my questions. It’s important to nurture an inquisitive mind, or at least that’s what’s embroidered on that pillow that we have in the study. Some of them were like you. The friends, I mean, not the pillows. I’ve always found it a rather fascinating subject, werewol–”

You’re out of your chair and frantically covering Jade’s mouth before you even really think about it, a startled “Harley!” squeaking out of your lips. Several books topple off the table and thunk to the floor at your frenzied movement and a chorus of shooshes comes from the tables around you.

“What are you, a bunch of parseltongues?” You glare at the group of them until they sniff and turn back around.

“Maybe we should have this conversation somewhere else?” you mutter. Jade nods from beneath your hands, which are still clasped over her mouth. She looks amused though, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and you can feel the curve of her lips against your palm. You won't let her absurd cheeriness deter you, though. This is important, dammit, and you’ll have this conversation properly.

It takes a full three minutes to gather all the books that Jade has collected around her nest of studying and another six for her to decide which to leave and which to take. She ultimately decides on taking all of them, which is how you discover that Jade’s bag has been enchanted to hold more than it should be able to. You find this kind of unfair and also like it would have been really useful two weeks ago when you and Nepeta tried to carry a basket of rolls, two cases of butter beer, and an entire roast chicken from the kitchens to the common room without getting caught.

(You did manage it, mostly by hiding in an empty classroom and eating as much of the food as you could. Nepeta ate almost the entire chicken by herself. You tried not to let it gross you out too much when she finished by gnawing on the bones.)

(Honestly, you’ve probably done worse, even if you weren’t conscious of it at the time.)

“Okay,” Jade says, once you’re both safely outside of the library. It’s a Saturday and the weather is chill but nice enough that most students are either outside or in their common rooms wishing they were outside, so you’re relatively alone in the hallways. Jade takes off in a direction and you follow behind her, jogging a bit to match her longer strides. She leads you to an unoccupied tree near the greenhouses and plops down under it, patting the leaf-strewn grass next to her expectantly. You cautiously lower yourself to the ground and cross your legs.

“Okay?” you ask hesitantly.

Jade shakes her head, smiling hesitantly, “No, sorry, my big mouth is what hurt you in the first place. Why don't you say what’s on your mind? I’ll try my best not to interrupt.”

She mimes zipping her lips and throwing the key into the lake. It’s an impressive throw, even if the key is imaginary.

“Uh, so, I guess the first thing is that I’d prefer you not…tell anyone,” You begin, “I mean, Dave already knows. And– well, I mean. Fuck. Nepeta probably knows too. I’d just, if I ever decide to tell people I’d rather it be me doing the telling? As nerve wracking as that sounds.”

You run your fingers through your already insane hair and you can tell that the coarse mane stays sticking up after you remove your hand, if the expression that Jade is making is anything to go by. You never really imagined that the phrase ‘constipated mirth’ could be applied to the human face.

“Merlin, I feel like I’m coming out to my friends or something. Only that would probably be less stressful,” you sigh. Jade raises an eyebrow.

You glare at her, “You know, for someone who isn’t talking, you’ve got an awful lot to say.”

Jade wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and leans on her hand, studying you. You fight the urge to stiffen up all over.

“And I’m not– I– ugh, fuck you. I’m not discussing my sexuality _and_ my…condition in one conversation!” you exclaim, your voice cracking horribly in the middle. Your face explodes into flames and you wonder if there’s a spell to make the earth swallow you whole and never spit you back out.

Jade raises her hand like she’s in class. You scrunch your nose at her and say, “Uh, yes, Miss Harley?” Merlin, you sound like Dave.

“We don’t have to talk about this if it makes you uncomfortable,” she says seriously.

“The sexuality thing or the other thing?”

Jade shrugs, “Either. I won’t tell anyone. Just, um, don’t be offended if I ask how you’re doing the week after the full moon.”

Your chest fills with something warm and bubbly, like you just swallowed an entire pack of Fizzing Whizbees at once. Only yesterday you had half convinced yourself that you were going to die for your lycanthropy and now two different people know and both of them are, what? Fine with it? _Encouraging_ about it. They want to _help_ you.

“Oh, Karkat,” Jade says, her voice going all quiet and soft. Her eyebrows have bowed up and she looks sad, though you don't know why. “You’re crying.”

Your fingers against your cheek confirm that you are, in fact, crying. You sniff to try and clear your suddenly clogged airway–once, twice–and then you’re crying in earnest and Jade’s gentle hands are pulling you into a hug.

“Hey, Karkat?” she asks once your tears have slowed and you’re breathing shakily but relatively evenly.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice wavering a little.

“Thank you,” she says, “For telling me. And for being my friend, I hope.”

You clutch her arm a little tighter and allow a ridiculous notion to take root in your heart: that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to be alone.

“You too,” you whisper back, “Thanks for, y’know, not running away. For staying.”

Harley presses her smile into your hair, you can feel it and hear it in her voice, “Of course, Karkat. Any time.”

 

 


End file.
